


Hindsight

by Ylevihs



Series: How Not to Fall [26]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationhship, Gen, Minor OC - Freeform, POV Change, Retribution Spoilers, ortega POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 21:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: Ricardo ponders some of the choices Richard has made.





	Hindsight

Not as bad as he’d feared. 

Which wasn’t to say it was any good. 

It was a moment or so before Richard was able to stop his lungs from trying to crawl out of his throat like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Desperately trying not to hyperventilate as neurons flared to life and pain slammed into his body like a battering ram. Failing. Needing more air. More space. Less space. Clenched teeth that stung. Burned. 

Low and throbbing ache in his jaw not important. 

Needing to move. Every muscle fiber wanting to twitch. Adjust. Readjust realign fix it find a better position. Shift relieve the tension of his lower back and if he could straighten his. Air punched out of his lungs like he’d been kicked again. Definitely trapped nerves in his hip. Shrieking, hysterical, up and down the hallways of his veins. Animal sound from his. He made that noise.

His chest hurt in a manageable way—the discomfort could be back burnered if not for the hip. It demanded all of his attention so completely that it took Daniel’s arms helped. Words helped. A measure of security that Richard was able to wrap his own hands around and tighten against the pain. Danny didn’t so much as flinch. 

“I’ve got you. Breathe, just breathe,” a little disconcerting. Daniel’s thoughts. Usually always felt on the edge of consciousness when they were so close together; little strips of sunlight pouring through cracks in curtains. Sun warmed carpet. Cool breeze through the screen door. Tiny pats of wingtips. Dulled. Muted and muffled. A heavy layer of make it stop make it stop make. “We’re here. Breathe, Richie,” 

He did. Half consciously did his best to match it to the rise and fall of Daniel’s chest at his back. More than half because either he was projecting or Daniel had noticed and slowed in his inhales. Exhales. Breathing with him. 

It shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was, but focusing on it gave his brain something to do besides flounder in pain. 

Being bodily caged in and pinned down and. There was no brush of terrified anxiety that usually came with it. Daniel’s arms weren’t there to keep him from escaping. There was a body on the edge of the bed that wasn’t Mitzi. Well. No. Mitzi was still there. But. Next to her were those eyes and that face and a hand pressing into the cot just beside his knee. 

“How you doing in there?” concern, tempered with something Richard couldn’t be bothered to try and suss out. Familiar static. Also not there to keep him from. They were there to keep him from leaving. But it was different enough to keep the ice in his mind thin and delicate. 

More of his own mind was seeping in through the cracks and flicking at switches and dials. Taking stock and going down the checklist of damages. 

He could breathe. Hot and sore and feel it moving under his skin with every breath in and catching on something with every exhale but. He could breathe. He could also nod. Not really an answer to Ricardo’s question, but it was as much as a response as he could give at the moment.

He was back in his body and he wasn’t actually dying. And from the way his leg felt tight on the skin, swelling slightly, there wasn’t a trapped vein. Good news. The nerves would be terrible, but they would worm their way free with time and encouragement. 

His jaw ached and throbbed furiously. A dull burn that upshifted with every heartbeat, someone jabbing a knife into his teeth and twisting. Richard probed the area with his tongue and felt jagged edges and a lance of tight, electric. Need a dentist for that, if he ever wanted to bite anything properly again. 

Ortega did something with his weight on the bed, shifted, and. 

-

Even if it was obvious, Ricardo waited for Daniel’s confirmation before leaning back, trying not to jostle anything too much again. 

“He passed out,” 

“Shit,” it wasn’t quite guilt, Ricardo told himself. Richard had both wanted and deserved getting his ass kicked a little. And it wasn’t like Richard hadn’t put up any fight. Ortega could tell from too much experience that his own ribs were bruised. The impact to his helmet had probably left him with a minor concussion. And he was bruised. It didn’t make seeing Richard writhe in pain any easier to watch though. He glanced over his shoulder at the--. At Mitzi. Waited to see if her eyes were going to blink open; if the shallow breathing was going to deepen. Waiting for signs of. Not life. She was still alive. Waiting for signs of Richard sliding back into her body. 

Something uncomfortable shifted at the base of Ortega’s spine at the notion. 

There were plenty of pretty faces in Los Diablos, on either side of the law. But the arrival of a woman like Mitzi, whom one of Ortega’s contacts had described as ‘unsettlingly attractive and absolutely dangerous’, had apparently caught the eye of bigger and badder fish than himself. Mitzi had garnered a reputation for asking about things no low level criminal should know about and being unflinchingly loyal to her boss. It had been worth the ‘chance’ meeting to try and get close to her. To see if Ortega could insinuate himself close enough to see what she was up to. What her boss was up to. Who her boss was.

Mission accomplished, there. 

And the entire time it had been. 

No wonder Richard was always so jumpy after Ortega got back from his morning jog. On edge and trying to figure out how much he knew about Mitzi, how much he knew about Mad Dog. If he even knew who Mitzi was or if he was just hitting on a nice pair of. 

Too much of Ricardo wished that it had just been the fact that Mitzi was attractive and not the fact that her expressions reminded. Or the way she rolled her eyes. Or the way she. He. Richard doing it. Richard all along. Who’d said no to spending more time with him and had apparently gone to lengths to keep Ortega away from Mitzi. 

Was that because of fear of being found out. Distrust? Or. 

He kissed him. Not with Mitzi’s mouth—that would have been easier, wouldn’t it? For him, at least. To stay in the woman’s body and flirt back and lead Ricardo on? Kiss him then?

Whatever the reason, Richard had decided against that. And instead he’d gone to the hospital himself and Ricardo had woken up with his hand being held. He’d thought the expression in Richard’s eyes had been conflict about giving him that peck on the forehead. He’d hoped that was what it had been. That Richard was just struggling with the same things Ricardo had been—his best friend back in his life and things not being quite right and not fitting like they should have and wanting that kiss to have lingered a little longer than it had. 

That the way his expression had wavered a little had been satisfaction with a decision reached and not nervous pride with having won the fight. That maybe his stand-offish-ness had been Richard’s way of coming to terms with feelings for him. Well. Different feelings. 

But after the hospital Richard had pulled back. Curled in slightly and had screened Ricardo’s phone calls and finally told him that he wasn’t. That he didn’t. Wouldn’t it be better if they just stayed friends? And, guiltily, Ricardo had agreed. At the time, he had thought it would save him the discomfort of soul searching. Of questioning things on some internal exam that he always got the vague notion he was failing. Turn it in blank and not have to think any more on it. A blessing not even remotely in disguise. They knew how to be friends. They could still laugh and mock and hug one another. And anyway then Wei happened to him and. 

“So, you’d met her before?” he managed to keep the wince at bay. Daniel wasn’t even really looking at him. The real attention was still on the body in his arms—the words were filling a silence that Ortega hadn’t realized was building until just then. 

“Briefly. Out jogging one morning. I had been doing some. Working on my pet project,” Daniel nodded slightly. Everyone at Ranger’s HQ knew that Ricardo had it out for Hollow Ground; he just hoped they didn’t know how much he actually knew. “People had brought up her name before, just as someone to keep an eye on. So I figured what better way to keep an eye on someone than to do it face to face? I found out when she went jogging in the mornings and decided to introduce myself,” a casual thing. Only dismiss ably flirtatious and god, Mitzi had lingered in his arms a little bit hadn’t she? Had she? Or had he only wanted her to? Or.

“And you didn’t have any clue that it was really--,”

“Of course not,” and shit, that sounded snappier than he meant it to. Ricardo forced his shoulders back and felt the whine of his mods. Crackling behind his jaw and in his shoulder blades. The mild sting of an electric bee. “Why would I have?”

Daniel didn’t give him a response, either trying to figure out why Ricardo might have been suspicious or ceding that there was no way for him to have guessed. Knowing now, he could put the pieces together. Like stripping the stickers off a Rubik’s cube and pasting them back on in order—calling it solved while the glue was still wet. Knowing who the killer was after watching a horror movie and rewatching again. Being able to see the hints and clues after the fact made it all so obvious. 

Ricardo quietly told himself that he hadn’t seen the signs before and that he couldn’t be blamed for missing them. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty. 

Daniel shifted gears. “I think that nod meant that we won’t have to do anything,” won’t have to dislocate his hip again and cram it back into its socket. 

And then Daniel had apparently happened to Richard. And how was he supposed to feel about that? It wasn’t like he could be upset that Richard had told the man he was sleeping with about not being. About being. About the tattoos. But it hurt that that was what it had taken. That being his friend hadn’t been good enough to earn the truth. That he would have had to press—to maybe poke at wounds that really were better left alone to heal—and force his way even further into Richard’s life. Cross even more lines. If he’d pressed that day at the beach and said he wanted something else with Richard, would he have told him then? Or would it have tipped things in the other direction and would Richie have run? Closed him off completely. 

The implication that the only reason Richard had said anything at all to him was because Daniel had forced him weighed heavy enough in Ricardo’s chest for it to hurt to breathe. He blamed the bruising. 

Richard’s excuse. No. It was his explanation, his reasoning and Ricardo had to respect it, had been that he’d been more afraid of losing him than he had been of losing Daniel. Which. _Hell_. What did that even mean? Ricardo hadn’t pressed that day on the beach because he’d been afraid of it too. That crossing probably the only solid line Richard had ever communicated would. That he’d lose him again. And it would be all his fault again. And. 

“Ricardo?” shit. He stopped staring at Mitzi’s unconscious body and turned back to Richard’s unconscious body.

“Sorry,” he offered, lamely. “Did you ask something?”

Daniel gave him a very long, very steady look. It both did and didn’t fit his face. It settled unnaturally but it had been practiced. Coached. And it was award winning. The PR team was doing a hell of a job getting him ready for leadership. Something in Ricardo’s head shifted. A part of him still wanted to think of Daniel as being the baby of the team. As being too fresh. An even louder part of him wanted to remind him that Daniel was the same age Richard had been when Heartbreak had. God. No, he was almost year older by now._ He’s the same age I was when. _

When he’d been made Marshal. When Hood had been murdered. 

“I said we need to let him rest,” steady. Firm. A hell of a job. “And I should take Mitzi back to the hospital now. I don’t want him to have to worry about it when he wakes up,” there were barbs in those words. “I can make sure she’s safe,” 

“So he doesn’t worry? Or is it to make sure he doesn’t dive back into her head?” that had been the option Daniel had posed earlier. That if the pain was too much, Richard could just slip literally back into Mitzi’s panty-hose. The pain had made him pass out when Ortega had leaned in a little too close—the cot had shifted with his weight, too much pressure on the hip and then Richard had blacked out clean and quiet, head rolling back onto Daniel’s shoulder. Was taking away the option to escape that pain Daniel’s way of making Richard live with his choices? That didn’t seem like him. 

“Maybe it’s both. Although I think if he wanted to, he could take her back over no matter where in the city she was at,” Daniel looked back down at Richard’s body and the Look was gone. His shoulders lost their tension. When he spoke again, the barbs were gone, too. “Maybe it’s so I don’t have to worry,” a quiet admission. It was Ortega’s turn to sit in the silence of Daniel’s thoughts. To watch his gaze turn from his boyfriend to the limp body that his boyfriend had been possessing. Ortega was suddenly acutely aware that the two men on the bed had been discussing something private when he’d shown up. “I’m gonna. Will you stay with him while I take her?” he didn’t wait for an answer to start moving.  
Ortega blinked at Daniel, watching him gingerly lift Richard’s upper body enough to slide out from beneath him. Richard’s face twisted even in sleep. The thin sheet, starting to turn soft watery pink where it touched the cut on his hip, slipped a little. More of the tattoos revealed themselves. Scars, some that he recognized, some that he didn’t. A particularly ugly one of his left shoulder didn’t match any fights that he could recall. 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Ricardo suddenly felt the need to clear his throat. “He uh. Did he tell you where he wanted her to go?” there were a lot of hospitals in Los Diablos. Some of them had better reputations than others. And some had just the right sort of reputations for. 

“Not exactly,” Daniel admitted, floating away from the edge of the cot and then settling over by something half hidden by another empty container. By a. Huh. Only visible if you were in just the right position, apparently. Like leaning against the wall while sitting on the cot. He stood up and took a few steps in Daniel’s direction. The movement revealed a small office style desk and a hip high filing cabinet, locked shut with an old combination lock. Ricardo paused for a moment, it was even lower tech than his own secret office. And then Daniel nodded him over. “But I’m pretty sure we can get a good idea from inside one of these,” 

“You know the code?” Ricardo asked. Daniel’s thumb rolled the metal numbers until a click and a pop. Slick and smooth. Now that was a surprise. “He told you the code?” there hadn’t been any hesitation. 

“Nope,” a little note of pride eked into his voice. Ricardo couldn’t help himself.

“Nice,” the top drawer slid open to reveal notebooks covered in Richard’s scrawl. Old school manila folders. Black and white surveillance maps. He really couldn’t help himself. “So. What was it? The uh,” he kicked the cabinet slightly. A slight. Oh? A slight flush came over Daniel’s cheeks. 

“Richie’s a romantic,” muttered. Embarrassed. Oh ho? Was he now? That was excellent to know. “Our uh,”

All moody broody teenage angst shook of his shoulders in an instant. Ricardo felt the smile on his face and did nothing to stop it. “The combination to the secret files in his hidden desk in his secret villain base_ is your anniversary?_” the flush was a full blush now and Daniel didn’t look up at him, choosing instead to loudly plop a three ring binder onto the desk top. 

“You said he wanted you to find out something about that Senator Carmichael?” there was something in Daniel’s voice and Ortega looked over his shoulder. A black and white still image, clearly snagged from a surveillance camera. Grainy and overexposed, but still clear enough to make out the figures, if you knew what their faces were meant to look like. It showed the Senator in relaxed looking clothing. Business casual. Her back was to the camera and she was embracing another woman in a loose hug. Formal but friendly. The other woman’s face wasn’t quite visible, but not because of the camera. It had been scribbled out hard enough to indent the paper and almost tear through it. “Do you recognize her?”

“No,” Ricardo shook his head. She didn’t look familiar in the least, but the way Daniel was nervously staring at the image. “Do you?”

“No,” he said, but only after a long moment of hesitation. “I haven’t ever seen her before, but I think Richard has spoken about her,” Daniel bit his lip and the frown starting at his forehead deepened. “If I’m right, her name is Regina,” he ran a finger over the scribbled face. “And she works for the Farm,”


End file.
